


Homecoming

by kethni



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Prompt Fic, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 11:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11850516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: He wasn’t a stranger to strong emotion, or grief, but she wasn’t his partner, friend, or family. She was the President of the United States: the most powerful person on the planet. She was Selina Meyer: brittle and aggressive, and whose attitude to him veered between grudging tolerance and outright disdain.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Veeple for the request!

 

Selina’s childhood home. You could have fitted Kent’s childhood home into her front living room.

Don’t be mistaken, Kent had hardly been raised by a woodcutter and a fisherwoman. His childhood had been comfortable, from a purely material point of view. He had not been one of those children who stared through windows at toys hopelessly beyond his reach. He had toys, depending on parental whim. He had food, clothes, tuition, and books. His education was never in doubt, provided that he proved capable of earning it. That _had_ been in question. Kent’s parents had been very doubtful.

Ben and he were abandoned to find their own rooms. They carried their luggage upstairs, saying little but exchanging knowing looks over the lack of family pictures.

Kent found a room in the north wing. It was probably called something like the Indian Room, or similar. The decorations were a ragbag of different styles and periods, almost ridiculously so. But Kent had always had an affinity for Indian design and architecture and, over the top though this room was, he still appreciated the art and decoration. He had grown up in an almost _aggressively_ homogenous microculture. However, he had always been encouraged to look beyond his small, and potentially small-minded, social group. Families vacations had been to Spain, German, Italy, Egypt, and India. He had excelled in language and cultural studies. He had been expected to excel, as he had been expected to excel in math, science, and every other subject. As it had been _demanded_ he excel. Mediocrity had not been acceptable.

Kent looked out of the bedroom window. It had a view of the grounds. There was a huge, twisting tree mere feet away. If this had been his bedroom as a teenager, then most nights he would have swung out of that window and shimmied down the tree. His teenage rebellions had been largely undiscovered and all the more unsatisfying for it. Nonetheless, it was pattern of his life; polite compliance and hidden mutiny. There were times when it was the only safety valve that he had.

He should probably go downstairs. He didn’t. Selina was down there. Catherine was down there. It had been a distressing, depressing day. That Selina’s relationship with her mother was an unhappy one in no way alloyed the unpleasantness. Kent was not comfortable with grief. He was deeply uncomfortable with Selina displaying vulnerability.

Most of all, he was uncomfortable at watching someone else’s parent die. He had never met Selina’s mother when she was alive. She was of an age with his mother, both of them tiny and fragile, their delicate skin, barely containing their bones. He had thought sometimes that he could see his mother’s heart fluttering under her dress, like a trapped bird.

His mother was now a faint copy of her former self. A faded photograph too long on the wall.   

‘Hey, you in there?’

Kent jumped as Ben knocked on the door. He shook himself and went to open the door.

‘They’re serving dinner, Ben said. ‘You coming?’

Kent pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Fucking depressing,’ Ben said.

‘Right.’

Ben rubbed his finger under his nose. ‘You wanna go get pizza or a burger? There’s gotta be a fast food joint somewhere around here.’

Kent nodded. ‘I would.’

‘Anything’s gotta be better than this mausoleum.’

They were heading downstairs when they heard someone trying to play the piano, pressing the wrong keys or catching two or three at a time. They exchanged a look.

‘Ten dollars says that it’s Catherine,’ Kent said.

‘No bet.’

She must have heard them because she wandered out of the room. ‘I was just going to dinner and I thought… Maybe I should play something for Mee-Maw.’

Ben gave her a blank smile.

‘That’s a… nice thought,’ Kent said.

‘I wasn’t a good granddaughter,’ Catherine said, wringing her hands. ‘I should’ve done more.’

‘I should visit my mother,’ Kent said.

‘You should!’ Catherine said. ‘You totally should.’

‘But after dinner,’ Ben said. He addressed Catherine. ‘We’re gonna go out.’

‘Oh, but…’

Kent shuffled his feet. ‘This is a private time for you and your family,’ he said. ‘We thought it appropriate to take dinner separately.’

Ben nodded. ‘Get your grief on. Talk about funny stories and that kind of thing.’

Catherine pushed back a lock of her hair. ‘That would be good. Thank you. I’m sure Mike and the others can do the same.’

Kent cleared his throat. ‘We’ll see you in the morning,’ he said.

‘Sorry about your grandma,’ Ben said. ‘Again.’

***

‘I’ve never seen anyone die before,’ Kent said, fastidiously picking up a fry in his fingertips

Ben had a mouthful of food. He swirled his beer around in his glass, then after he swallowed he took a sip. ‘Your dad’s dead, right?’

A muscle ticked in Kent’s jaw. ‘Yes.’

‘You didn’t see it?’

‘No.’

Ben shrugged. ‘I was there when my dad died. Turns out that death throes and death rattles are a thing. A thing I didn’t need to see or hear.’

Kent put down his burger. ‘Ah.’

‘POTUS is lucky she got to avoid all that,’ Ben said. ‘Christ, I wish that I had.’

‘That’s horrible,’ Kent said.

‘Yeah, it’s fucking horrible,’ Ben said. ‘That’s why you’re lucky.’

Kent pushed a fry around his plate with a fork. ‘When Fibonacci died, he shook. Like a seizure. They said he wouldn’t feel anything. I asked them to take the tubes out before but they said it would cause him distress. They put him on my knee, gave me a few moments alone with him, and then came back to do it. Afterwards the vet asked me about the drive. Making small talk. Just another day to him.’

Ben took a deep draught of his beer. ‘I think you loved that cat more than I love my kids,’ he said. But it was quieter and gentler than his usual acerbic tone.

Kent managed a small smile. ‘For your children’s sake, I hope that isn’t true.’

‘My dad was a jack-off,’ Ben said. ‘I told myself when I had kids I’d do a better job. I’d be there. I’d be interested. I wouldn’t beat the shit out of them.’

Kent’s eyes widened.

‘It didn’t happen,’ Ben said. ‘I mean, I don’t smack them around. I never raised a hand to my kids. But their moms raise them. I’m just kind of around in the background. Paying for shit. They don’t know me. When I die they’re gonna mourn for a concept, the idea of a dad, not a person.’

Kent shrugged. ‘Do something about it.’

‘Are you kidding? You’ve met my kids. They’re all little shitheads. I hate kids.’

Kent chuckled. ‘You hate everyone.’

‘People fucking suck,’ Ben said. ‘What’s not to hate?’

‘Good point.’

 ***

Kent got a cab back to the house. Ben had gone in search of a bar. Kent didn’t really drink when he was feeling down. It tended to make him feel worse, not better. What he needed was to listen to some music or perhaps take some exercise. Something that would allow him to let his always busy mind go blank.

But it was too late in the evening for that. The night had drawn in and there was a chill in the air. There were a couple of lights on in the house. Possibly staff. A house this size probably had live-in staff, didn’t it? Only he and Ben were staying at the house with the family, and Gary. There was always Gary. One of the first things he had ever told POTUS was that she relied too heavily on Gary. It made her look weak. She hadn’t listened, as she hadn’t listened to so much of what he said on the campaign. She had found Kent utterly infuriating in a way that had only recently ebbed to a low-level thrum of continual irritation.

Kent headed for the North Wing staircase. There were photographs on the walls, but none of them looked like POTUS. At Kent’s mother’s house, there were pictures of Kent and both of his sisters. Mostly from their childhood, but some from their adulthood. Their marriages, graduations, and other significant events were documented. There were candid snaps from Christmas, birthdays, and christenings. All the happy events. It was a cliché that unhappy times weren’t memorialised. A cliché, but true. But here, in this house, there was nothing acknowledging Selina Meyers’ existence, never mind her achievements.

Kent heard piano music. Apparently, Catherine had radically improved in the last few hours.

He paused at the end of a corridor and then followed the music into a richly appointed room.

‘Oh,’ he said, taking a step back. ‘Apologies.’

POTUS stopped playing. ‘Oh. Hey, Kent. You don’t have to leave. I was just... I played this in a recital one time. My dad said it was pretty good.’

Kent licked his lips as he moved a little closer. ‘I wasn’t aware that you played an instrument.’

She crossed her legs. ‘Mother wanted me to learn the violin but all those fucking strings tore up my fingers.’

Kent rested his hand on the piano lid. ‘The piano seems like a reasonably challenging instrument.’

Selina pulled a face. ‘Mother said I might as well play the banjo.’

‘My father implied that woodwinds were “unmanly” instruments,’ Kent said.

‘Oh Christ, one of those assholes? Only girls use umbrellas, men don’t go to the doctor, and real men don’t cry.’

Kent smiled slightly. ‘You forget only women eat vegetables and cats are pets for young women and old homosexuals.’

Selina sniggered. ‘Young women and old homosexuals. I like that one. It’s completely fucking insane. Your dad said that?’

‘Yes. I was always fond of cats.’

‘What instrument did you play, the “unmanly” one?

‘The flute.’

Selina gave him a look he couldn’t parse. ‘Didn’t your beard get in the way?’

Kent tilted his head. ‘I began in the second grade.’

Selina grinned. ‘Come on, you came screaming out of your mom with a full beard and a moustache, you can’t fool me.’

Kent rolled his eyes. ‘ln fact I was clean-shaven until I was in my late forties.’

‘That’s a weird kinda midlife crisis. Couldn’t you find a trashy sports car you liked?’

He drummed his fingers on the piano. ‘I wanted a change. My… personal life had been through a certain amount of upheaval. It seemed a good moment for change.’

Selina stood. ‘What, you had a makeover like the heroine in a chick flick?’  

‘I suppose so.’

‘Pour us a couple of drinks. Over there.’

He didn’t much want to drink, certainly not with a grieving woman whose behaviour had been erratic even before her mother’s death. But she needed to talk, that was clear, and he didn’t have it in him to just walk away. He poured a couple of drinks and handed her one.

‘Catherine said you and Ben went out for dinner because you didn’t want to intrude,’ she said. She looked at him over the lip of her glass. ‘Woulda been great if you’d taken Gary.’

‘Ah,’ Kent said. ‘No.’

‘Spoilsport.’ Selina closed the piano lid. ‘Rough day.’

Kent nodded. ‘How’s Catherine dealing with it?’

‘Oh, fuck Catherine. She barely knew mother. It’s all about her, all the time. I didn’t give a shit when my grandparents died. Did you?’

Kent rolled the glass between his hands. ‘My father’s parents died when I was very young. My maternal grandfather died when I fourteen and my maternal grandmother when I was twenty-two. They were both distressing but I had a reasonable relationship with them.’

‘Catherine is pretending my mother was this sweet, rosy-cheeked, apple-pie baking, Granny-fucking-Walton,’ Selina said. ‘She wasn’t. She was a cold, nasty, and controlling woman who abused and demeaned everyone who tried to love her!’

She was panting. Her eyes were wild. She had splashed her drink across the carpet.

‘Oh, fuck,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Will you look at that mess, that... Fucking...’

He took her glass before she dropped it, and put both glasses on the mantelpiece. Selina made a wet, choking sound.

She was doubled over, weeping. Not the pretty twinkling tears of Hollywood movies. This was the wrenching and wretched sobbing of a wounded, desperate animal.

Kent glanced at the door. There was nobody there. No sound of anyone coming to see to her. To save him from this raw misery.

He edged closer. Put his hand on her shoulder. She gulped a little. Cautiously, tentatively, he put his arm around her shoulder.

Selina pushed against him, pressing her face into his chest.

Kent was frozen for a moment, and then put his arms around her.

She clutched his shirt between her fingers, and he felt it growing wet. He wasn’t a stranger to strong emotion, or grief, but she wasn’t his partner, friend, or family. She was the President of the United States: the most powerful person on the planet. She was Selina Meyer: brittle and aggressive, and whose attitude to him veered between grudging tolerance and outright disdain.

He patted her back, and made meaningless, soothing sounds. After a few seconds, her grip eased, and the keening died away, replaced with soft sniffles and gulps for air. Kent fished a pristine handkerchief from his pocket and handle it to her. She blew her nose, a series of wet squelches and aborted honks, and balled up the handkerchief.

‘I guess you don’t want this back,’ she said, her voice thick.                                             

‘I think you can keep it.’

‘It’s kind gross carrying a hankie,’ she muttered. ‘Old-fashioned too. Figured you’d be all about hygiene and modern tech.’

‘It’s primarily for when I eat,’ he admitted. ‘Crumbs in my beard.’

Selina looked up at him. Her skin was blotchy, and her eyes were red and tear-rimed.

‘Didn’t think of that,’ she said.

‘Would you... World you like a cup of tea?’ he offered.

‘Tea?’

‘A nice cup of camomile, perhaps.’

She sniffled. ‘Don’t go turning into Gary.’ She licked her lips. ‘You’ll have one too? You’re not going to give me a cup and run away.

He smiled weakly. ‘I’ll have a cup with you.’

She pocketed the handkerchief. ‘Let’s go down to the kitchen. It’s cosier there.’ She shivered slightly. ‘Do you know how to light a fire?’

***

‘It’s odd seeing an open fire in an otherwise modern kitchen,’ Kent said, as he poured the tea.

Selina curled up by the fire and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. ‘Mother was stupidly old-fashioned in some ways. Mostly when they would inconvenience the staff.’

Kent handed her a cup and sat down opposite her.

Selina sipped her tea. She looked small, smaller even than normal, and vulnerable.

‘Your mom’s alive, right?’ she asked.

‘She is.’

Selina wrapped her hands around her cup. ‘Dad?’

‘No, he died a long time ago,’ Kent said.

‘My dad died when I was twelve,’ she said. ‘Heart attack. Real sudden. Didn’t even make it to hospital.’

‘Were you there?’ Kent asked.

She nodded. ‘I didn’t see much. His secretary pulled me away.’ She grimaced. ‘I hated her for that for years. Then Catherine made me watch some documentary about what happens when you die.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘It’s gross. Thank Christ I didn’t see it.’

‘I imagine it must be distressing as a young person to see your parent die,’ Kent said. ‘To witness a Titan being revealed as a human being, as fragile and vulnerable as we are, must shock one to the core.’

Selina snorted. ‘Distressing to a young person? It was distressing to see it _today_.’

‘I wasn’t there when my father died,’ Kent said. ‘I was in Washington D.C. I was young. I was financially insecure. I lacked the resources to quickly return home. I spent several days trying to get home. Days of my sister raging and my mother panicking. When I finally arrived back home, I found I was too late. There was no leave taking to be had. No apologies. No reconciliation. It was a relief at the time, but I regret it now.’

Selina leaned forward. ‘It was a relief?’

Kent stared into his cup. ‘We had a difficult relationship. My father was an angry and disappointed man. I was young. I was comfortable with my image of him as hating everyone and everything. I suspected that, knowing his cancer was terminal, he might be frightened. Clinging on to everyone around him. Reduced to a pathetic terrified shell of a man. I didn’t want to see that. I was relieved that I didn’t have to.’

‘Fuck,’ Selina said.

He looked up, startled, when he felt her hand over his. ‘It’s normal to be relieved if it’s been a lengthy illness,’ he said. ‘To be grateful that their suffering is over. It’s normal. So is the guilt.’

‘That obvious?’ Selina grumbled.

‘Merely normal.’

‘Who the fuck wants to be normal?’ She played with her cup. ‘Ugh. I wish we had some marshmallows to toast on the fire,’ she said.

‘My mother made these things with toasted marshmallows and peanut butter,’ Kent said.

‘Damn, I can’t decide if that sound amazing or disgusting.’

‘It’s amazing,’ Kent said firmly.

Selina grinned. ‘You would say that, fucking momma’s boy.’

Kent shrugged easily. ‘And unashamedly so,’ he said.

‘You never get mommy’s girls and daddy’s boy. It’s always some Freudian shit.’

Kent stoked the fire. ‘It may be that we simply don’t make a note of it when it happens. I suspect historically parents may have considered same-sex children a threat. Perhaps due to there being an emphasis on competing for sex, work and resources.’

Selina rolled her eyes. ‘Catherine’s no competition.’

‘For Andrew’s attention?’

Selina gave him a sour look. ‘You think he pays her any attention that doesn’t directly related to him wanting something?’

Kent put down his empty cup and shuffled his feet. Surely this had been long enough to be polite?’

‘I should –’

‘You were estranged?’ Selina asked suddenly and worryingly intent. ‘You and your dad?’

She didn’t want to be left on her own. Her desperation was coming off her in waves.

Kent’s shoulders clenched. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You said, um, something about reconciliation,’ she prompted.

He looked down at his hands. ‘It wasn’t as dramatic as that sounds. There was no huge rift. No disagreement or misunderstanding. Nothing but the gradual accumulation of discontent clogging the river until the water was unable to flow.’

Selina moved closer. ‘I never did a thing in my life that my mom unequivocally approved of. Not one.’

‘When I got my first weekend job, I saved up for weeks to buy presents for my family. Flowers for my mother. Candies for my sister. A vinyl record for my father. His favourite band. He looked at the slip case, said it didn’t have his favourite song, and walked away shaking his head.’

‘My mom told me my wedding dress made me look like a Mexican whore! On my wedding day!’

Kent was staring at her open mouthed. ‘What? That’s... What?’

Selina moved to sit next to him. ‘There’s so much bullshit to unpack with it all.’

Kent was uncomfortably aware of how close she was, but he was trapped between her and the fire.

‘I’ve been to Mexico,’ he said. ‘Many times. I don’t know what a Mexican sex worker is supposed to look like.’

Selina sniggered. ‘I bet that’s what you say to all the cops.’

Kent rolled his eyes. ‘If I required temporary female company of that nature, then I would access a discreet third party to arrange it. I wouldn’t cruise the streets.’

He’d never seen her look at him quite that way before: there was a touch of surprise, a hint of curiosity, and a lot of thoughtful evaluation.

‘That’s real, the high-class hooker thing?’

He nodded. ‘If one is willing to pay. I’m sure you recall Ben suggesting that a companion could be found for you.’

‘I thought he meant a staffer! He meant a rent boy?’

Kent rubbed his thigh. ‘I think for a female client it would be a gigolo. Like the Richard Gere movie.’

‘Huh.’ Selina tapped her feet. ‘Let’s get a proper drink,’ she said.

‘It’s late. We should –’

‘My mother died. I need to drink and talk and you’re the only other person awake,’ she said. ‘Please?’

Kent sighed. Selina Meyer should not be capable of sad puppy eyes. He shouldn’t feel a stab of guilt at such blatant manipulation. But evidently, she was and he did.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But can we go somewhere more comfortable?’

***

She sat next to him on the couch. Kent watched her warily. He was well aware that he struggled to pick up social cues. He had misunderstood interactions too many times to jump to a conclusion now. But he had a suspicion. A suspicion not allayed by her patting his leg.

‘Come on, tell me. I want to hear about hiring a hooker.’

‘I didn’t say that I had, merely that if I were to do so, I would not pick a woman up off the street,’ he protested.

Selina regarded him. ‘Have you paid for sex or not?’

‘Not,’ he said.

She pointed at him. ‘There’s a “but” unspoken there. Come on, explain. What did you do?’

Kent sighed. ‘I’ve never paid for sex. However –’

‘Aha!’

He looked at her.

‘Sorry,’ she said, not looking sorry at all.

‘There have been times when I was... desirous of female company,’ he said. ‘There are agencies where you can find an articulate, interesting, and engaging woman with whom you can have dinner and a pleasant conversation.’

Selina rested her head on her hand. ‘You pay good money so you can buy a woman dinner?’

Kent pursed his lips. ‘I find social engagement difficult and often perplexing. There are times when I feel the need for conversation and friendly company. An escort allows me to experience that without the pain of rejection.’

He expected a sarcastic comment. He didn’t expect sympathy.

‘Jesus, Kent,’ she said gently. ‘You’re a decent guy. You shouldn’t be so desperately lonely that you gotta pay someone to spend time with you.’

Kent covered his eyes. ‘That’s not it.’

‘Quit being a baby,’ she said, slapping her hands away. ‘Tell me what it is if it’s not that.’

He looked away. ‘It’s just exhausting. Dealing with people. All the nuance of communication that I struggle with. Watching people lose interest. It’s so much... easier not to do it.’

‘Fuck off,’ Selina said quietly. ‘It’s difficult for everyone. You think it’s easy for me?’

Kent shook his head. ‘Yes. I do.’

‘I’m a forty-seven-old divorcee with a grown daughter. You figure that I’ve got men queuing up to bang me?’

‘False modesty, Ma’am,’ Kent said. ‘I won’t bore you by listing your qualities.’

‘You’re no fucking fun,’ she grumbled.

‘Apologies.’

Selina toed off her shoes and lifted her feet up on the sofa. ‘You think I don’t get lonely?’

He looked at her, but she was staring into space. ‘Perhaps everyone does.’

Now she looked at him. ‘That’s all you did, took the ladies to dinner?’

He felt himself redden. ‘Although a certain level of physical contact with other humans is necessary both for psychological and physical health, I have never paid for it. I have no illusions on the likely opinion any sex worker would have for me as a client.’

Selina whistled. ‘You expect someone you bang to _respect_ you? Jesus, no wonder you’re single.’

Kent winced. ‘It has happened,’ he said quietly. ‘Not often, admittedly.’

‘I don’t know it’s ever happened to me,’ Selina said. ‘Every time I fuck a guy it turns out he wants something.’

Kent shrugged. ‘You have Charlie.’

Selina gave him a scathing look. ‘I’m the president. He’s in charge of a bank. You think he’s not going to mention… banking regulations or some fucking thing? He’s just waiting.’

Kent just looked at her.

‘Say something,’ she urged.

‘I simply don’t know what to say to that,’ he admitted. ‘I have contemporaries who pay for… female friendship, generally with very young women. Sugar daddies and sugar babies is the unappetising nomenclature. As difficult as it is to sometimes be alone, I imagine that is worse. Paying for conversation is one thing, paying for the illusion of affection… I would rather be single.’

Selina rested her chin on her knees. ‘Why the fuck do I think you’re cold and robotic?’ she asked quietly.

‘Because I am calm, logical, and guided by facts rather than feelings. People like Ben and his ilk deride that as icy and inhuman.’

Selina waggled her toes. ‘Really bugs you, huh?’

He sighed. ‘Nobody wishes to be dehumanised.’

Selina leaned forward and brushed his hair away from his face. ‘Hey. You look pretty human to me.’

He looked away, embarrassed. ‘There comes a point where you can continue to fight and struggle against the unfair perception or you can lean into it.’

Selina laughed bitterly. ‘Look at me: I’m a divorced, middle-aged woman in politics. Talk some more to me about unfair perceptions.’

‘It doesn’t have to be a competition.’

‘If it’s not a competition then how do I win?’ Selina asked, smiling.

Kent tilted his head. ‘You say that as if it’s humorous, but I don’t believe that it is. You’re in competition with the entire world.’

Selina looked away. ‘Aim high, right?’

‘Freud seemed to believe that all boys compete with their fathers. Being a misogynist, he didn’t consider if girls competed with their mothers.’

‘Mother was a bitch,’ Selina said.

‘I hate that word,’ Kent said.

She rolled her eyes. ‘She fucking was.’

Kent sucked his lower lip. ‘I’m not debating the sentiment. I merely dislike the use of sexist language. I think you find it empowering, perhaps, to reclaim such misogynist slurs.’

‘If anyone gets bitch rights it’s me,’ Selina said. ‘I am a _cold_ fucking bitch, so I know one when I see one. Like my mom.’

‘And yet, you mourn her,’ Kent said. ‘As I mourned my father. As all us children do: disappointed in our parents, scrabbling for approval, and blaming ourselves when we don’t get it.’

Selina kissed him. Once. Twice. Soft, close-mouthed kisses that it took him a moment to respond to.

‘What’re you doing?’ he asked quietly.

‘Hoping that big brain of yours can recognise an easy lay when it sees one,’ Selina said. ‘You don’t even have to buy me dinner.’

Kent gazed at her. ‘You’re emotionally compromised.’

‘Oh boo-hoo my mommy died. Your daddy died,’ she said more quietly. ‘We bumble through our lives smashing against the rocks of misery and despair. If we’re not hurting ourselves then we’re hurting each other. Newsflash: we’re all emotionally compromised all the fucking time.’

‘Nonetheless I’m not –’

She kissed him again, more deeply this time, and slid her hand into his hair. ‘We’re grown-ups, Kent. Let’s help each other out.’

‘Does this approach work often?’ he murmured.

‘You’d be surprised.’

***

Selina’s childhood bedroom. You could have fitted Kent’s childhood bedroom into her bathroom.

He barely took in the details. He let her pull him across the room towards the bed. She was greedy; for touch, for the warmth of his skin. Greedy for comfort.

He cupped her face and kissed her. Slowed down the frenzy. She put her small hands over his and pulled his hands down, to her shoulders, and then to her breasts.

He rested his forehead against hers. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

‘I’m sure.’ She unzipped her dress and shimmied out of it. ‘And I’m sure I don’t wanna talk about it.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Kent kicked off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his trousers.

She caught his hand and pulled him over to the bed. ‘I had this bed since I was twelve.’

‘That’s a little…’

She pushed him down onto the bed and straddled his lap. ‘Nah, it’s a lot.’

Kent brushed down the straps of her bra. ‘There’s no chance of Catherine hearing us is there?’

‘She’s in the East Wing,’ Selina said, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘You’d have to be fucking _amazing_.’ She kissed him. ‘ _Are_ you fucking amazing?’

‘Not beyond the realms of normal human endeavour, no.’

She was shaking. Shuddering gently as she pushed her fingers through his chest hair. Kent put his arms around her as he swivelled to lean back against the headboard.

He hands were warm as they passed across her back. Seeking to ease the shivering that he knew had nothing to do with cold.

‘It’s okay,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Take a breath. There’s no rush.’

She rested her forehead against his shoulder and gently scratched his chest with her fingers. ‘Is your sex talk exclusively clichés?’ she muttered.

‘I’m nervous,’ he admitted, sliding down her panties.

She looked at him. Really _looked_ at him, possibly for the first time. ‘I won’t eat you afterwards,’ she said.

‘Nonetheless, you are quite intimidating.’

She shifted up and waited for him to push his boxers down.

Kent settled down and took her weight. He pulled her forward, and angled to enter her.

‘I intimidate you,’ she muttered. ‘Right.’

He touched her face.

She looked at him.

‘You’re Selina Meyer. You’re the President of the United States. You’re selfish, stubborn, and frequently infuriating. You are, without a doubt, the most intimidating woman I know.’

‘Are you trying to get me hot?’ she asked tartly. ‘Because you are getting me _so fucking hot_.’

He was cupping her ass, lifting and lowering her as she nudged against him.

‘If you like that I can give you at least three hundred words on why you poll badly with women.’

She closed her eyes. ‘Give my tits some attention and you’re polling will be better.’

Kent slid his hands up her body. He didn’t mind taking direction. Preferred it, in fact.

Selina gave a gentle, inward hiss. The soft lamplight illuminated the delicate flush of her skin. It was easy to forget when she was storming through the West Wing that she was physically slight. Even in her sky-high heels she was still half a head shorter than him.

‘Nearly… nearly,’ she murmured.

Diaphoresis glimmered on her face as Kent kissed the fragile skin along her jaw.

***

He left her pretending to sleep. It was easier for both of them. In the morning, he would call her “ma’am” and she would continue to blame him for the tie. There wouldn’t be any knowing looks or innuendo-laden comments.

It had happened. It would never happen again. He knew that.

Kent sighed as he climbed into his bed and turned out the light.

 

The End.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
